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Preface Name the asshole who first invented mirrors. I'm not actually posing that question, as | could quickly find out on my own by using my handy Google button or whipping over to Wikipedia, but | haven't bottomed out that far as a writer (or a human being) quite yet. | still like to look things up for myself occasionally, even cracking open an old feather-bound edition of encyclopedias from time to time to get a plece of information. | know somebody invented mirrors—they exist, after all; no doubt someone's ancestors are taking credit for the discovery—but I'm asking in a more general way, a sort of “Why did they bother?” Do we really need to see ourselves that clearly? Or at all? We see others for who they are—physically, at least—and yet we never actually see ourselves outright, always catching a glance ina window's reflection or in the glimmer off a lake's placid surface. But we want more. We want to know what we really look like, what people really think of us; if we're pretty enough, good enough, the best. We are creatures of desire— we want all the time. It's endless, how much we crave things—compliments and cars and lotto tickets (because if we win we'll have a lot of money, and then we can get more stuff)—and so we work and spend time away from our loved ones, always telling ourselves that this is the way of the world and everybody does it and my kids want it, and so life silps away. You attend your school of choice (if you're lucky), and